


"...but I'd still love you."

by katemiller



Series: I Tell Him Real [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, everlark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 15:50:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17164829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katemiller/pseuds/katemiller
Summary: justajjfan on tumblr sent me the prompt: "...but I'd still love you."





	"...but I'd still love you."

**Author's Note:**

> (I don't write in present tense a lot so hopefully this is alright!)

Peeta sighs and releases the tension in his shoulders. His knuckles are white from the strain of gripping the chair and he slowly lets go. His breathing is returning to normal but he can still feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“Are you okay?” Katniss asks quietly. He gives her a small nod and flexes his hands. “Do you want any lunch?”

“I think I’m just going to go lay down.” She watches as he retreats out of the kitchen.

 

Over the next few weeks, more days are bad than good and Katniss finds herself keeping a close eye on him, the strain increasing her nightmares, but each time his arms are there and they cling to each other until sunrise.

 

It’s almost Spring and Katniss feels restless waiting for the snow to melt. She is tired of trekking across the icy fields to the forest and of having to ask Haymitch to help her drag her kills back. She wakes early, only to find that it has snowed again over night. Sighing she puts out the lamps that she has just lit and goes back to bed, curling against Peeta’s side.

A few hours later she wakes screaming, visions of mutts still dancing across her field of vision. _After all this time_ , she thinks to herself, her body shaking, waiting for Peeta’s arms.

But he does not come and she stays in bed another hour, willing herself to move.

Peeta is distance throughout the day, barely making small talk and staying in the study painting. She respects his space and does not pursue him, knowing all too well the need to spend time in solitary.

But then Katniss starts to find herself waking alone at night, Peeta holed up in the study again, painting or drawing furiously. She asks him to come to bed or if she can help, but he shrugs her off each time.

 

A few weeks later, after his third flashback of the day, Katniss finds herself hiding away in the bathroom, crying. She watches as her tears splash on the floor and waits until she feels empty before moving again.

She hurries to the kitchen and warms him up a bowl of soup from the night before and slices two pieces of bread as well. She places the food on the table and gentle wakes him from his nap on the couch.

“Eat something,” she says sternly and he obeys, dragging himself to the table. She waits a few minutes before slipping out of the house and crossing to Haymitch’s.

The other houses in Victor Village are full now that people have started to move on with their lives. The windows throughout each house are lit up and it’s a comforting sight to Katniss as she hurries through the snow.

As expected, Haymitch is still passed out from the night before and sleeping with his head resting on the table. She frowns, wondering when Effie is coming for another visit knowing he is better when she is there.

She moves quietly though the house, not wanting to rouse Haymitch. She is relieved that once inside his study she finds the telephone still intact. She dials that number and prays for an answer.

“Hello?” her mother’s soft voice fills her ears and she wants to cry. She tries her best to stay in touch with her, but it’s hard and her mother knows.

“Hi mom,” she croaks, her voice breaking.

“Oh, Katniss.” She can hear the relief in her voice. “I have been missing you.”

“I’ve been missing you,” she says, and is surprised to find it true. She spends the good part of an hour listening to her mom talk about everything going on in District 4, her job, and the life she has created for herself over the last few years.

“I’m happy for you,” Katniss says, glad that she means this too.

“How are Peeta and Haymitch?” her mother asks.

“Effie was here a few weeks ago, but I hope her next trip is soon – as much as Haymitch complains about her, he likes having her here…and he is much better behaved.” Her mom gives a soft chuckle and then there is pause.

“And Peeta?”

Katniss hesitates.

“He has been struggling,” she confesses, “and I don’t know how to help him.”

 

 

Katniss leaves her wet boots by the back door and heads to the study, sure she will find him there. Outside of the door she can hear him muttering to himself. He is on the floor, paint and canvases scattered around him, black paint dripping for his hands.

“Peeta?” He doesn’t look at her. He continues to mutter to himself and grabs another drawing, smearing it with black paint. “No!” She hurries to his side and tares the drawing out of his hands – it is completely ruined. “Peeta, what are you doing?” she asks as she looks around seeing at least half a dozen beautiful pieces ruined.

“I’m tired of remembering,” he whispers. Her eyes dart up to his, sad and broken.

“Me too.” She rests her hand on his arm, feeling him shaking.

“I’m tired of reliving everything,” he says, his voice getting louder. “Some of it still doesn’t make sense!” He stands up. “I thought things were getting better, but every time I close my eyes, or hear too loud of a noise,” he is motioning around to his paintings of the games and their flight through the capital, “or, or – ”

“Or are just sitting there,” she finishes for him. He stops moving and nods. He sighs and walks over to the picture of the clock arena he painted almost a year ago, the same night she had confirmed for him her feelings. Katniss had hung it in the kitchen, but something had splashed on it a few weeks ago and Peeta had taken it down to touch it up.

She watches as he stares at it, black paint still dripping from his hands.

“Why don’t I run you a bath?” she offers as she stands, her mom’s words coming to mind, _just be there for him_.

He frowns as he continues to stare at the painting and before she can stop him, he has grabbed it, smearing the sides with black streaks.

“No!” She grabs his arms as he attempts to rip it in half. “Please don’t!” He stops struggling against her hands and looks her in the eyes.

“Katniss, this arena was where I lost.” His breathing is heavy and she can feel his rapid pulse in his wrist. “When I let you walk away from me…” tears well up in his eyes and he lets go of the painting. She sets it down and pulls him into her arms. “That night was the last night I was myself.”

She can hear his unspoken words, _that was the night the capital took me and tortured me._

“You’re getting back there.”

“I don’t feel like it.” He sinks to the ground and wipes his hands on his pants. “I feel like I will never be able to care for you like you deserve, to provide for you. And no matter what we do, Katniss, these will follow us forever!” He waves at the pictures of past tributes and lost allies. “I don’t know that I will ever be able to be the husband that I want to be! And this,” he gestures to his prosthetic, “how could I teach children to value themselves when I feel like half a man?!” his voice rings in the small room.

Katniss frowns and sits down in front of him, making him look at her.

“Peeta, you are an amazing husband and your prosthetic makes you no less of a man because of it.” She reaches out and takes his paint covered hands in hers. “Things can get better, but I think the only way they will is if we work together.” They are silent for a moment and then Peeta nods. “And while I don’t agree with this, maybe things don’t get better – you may have flashbacks and nightmares, or struggle to do things on your own, or feel worthless and broken…but I’d still love you.”

Peeta stills at her words. This is the first time she has said it out loud and they are both a little stunned. Over the last year, she had found other ways of saying _I love you_ without really saying it, and she had thought that was enough. And maybe for Peeta it could have been, but she knew it would not have been for her.

“I love you,” she says again, this time, she presses her lips to his and cradles his face in her hands.

“I love you too,” he says resting his forehead against hers. They sit like that for several more minutes, listening to the sounds of the house around them.


End file.
